Two days, three nights
by kumar LaVoixDuSud
Summary: Sunset in the Hadarac desert. The last purple sun rays cast shadows on two young-looking men who are sparring next to their campfire. Their intention is to spend some time together.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer :** I do not own any hero of the Inheritance Cycle.

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**A/N :** This story is dedicated to all of you, who will read it.

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A cold eastern wind starts blowing over the desert. The reddish, setting sun causes a thousand glittering sparkles on the huge dragon's scales as he rests on the warm sand, with his Rider leaning on his flank. Enormous plains of emptiness holding no life are spread around them but the dragon's senses are in alarm. He lifts his magnificent head and sniffs the air humming.

_They are coming!_

_I know._

**Two days, three nights.**

A caravan of the Wandering Tribes passes by. As the blood - red globe of sun melts into the sand, their chief, having climbed on a nearby dune, watches the desert. Blurred by the heat emanating from the ground, two dark figures are spotted sparring in the distance.

'_The brothers …'_ he whispers with widening eyes, as if he has seen two ghosts, and superstitiously touches an amulet hanging from his neck. As he hurries towards his people, his gaze surveys the sky with anxiety.

'My children!' he raises his voice. 'Let us hurry away!'

Instinctively hands grab tightly the hilts of weapons. Dark eyes look around filled with fear. Strong men shiver under the darkening sky and the rising desert wind which even from so far carries the metallic sound of swords clashing against each other.

The shadows grow longer. The eastern wind blowing towards the north travels carrying the fear away, turning it to rumors, spreading them into the realm.

_The brothersss … they are back togetheeer …_


	2. First night

**Disclaimer :** I do not own any hero of the Inheritance Cycle.

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**First night.**

Two young-looking men sit by a camp fire, silently watching the sizzling flames and a small, simmering pan containing their meager supper.

As the stars in the night sky become brighter, the cold desert wind blows through their long hair, caresses their faces and whispers in their ears promises of damp soil, streams in secret ravines, springs gushing from rocks. It brings memories of distant mountains, past adventures and perilous risks.

'You cannot surpass me.'

'Neither can you.'

'We are equals.'

'That's what we are.'

They keep on sitting by the fire, two long, broad swords by their sides glimmering lively with blue and red glints causing by the flames.

'I almost killed you once.'

'But you didn't.'

'It was _he_ who stopped my blade.'

The younger man turns to face the other.

'Why did you do it?'

The older one stirs disturbed, maybe remorseful.

'I was angry against you back then. You had just revealed your parentage.'

'You had better reason to be angry than that one.'

The other man nods.

'Aye, but not anymore. I've been through all this a long time ago.' He looks the younger man in the eye. 'I'm glad that I wasn't allowed to do it, that _he_ stopped my blade.'

The older man digs in his nearby saddlebags and brings out a loaf of bread. With his hands he tears it in the middle and gives one half to the other.

'Here, brother, have your share.'

'Thank you, brother.'

For a while they stay in silence, chewing on small chunks of bread.

'You have not overcome all of it yet' says the younger one. 'You still cannot call _him_ with _his_ name.'

The older one swallows hard, glaring at the man by his side.

'Neither can you.'

He stands up and, approaching the pan on the fire, serves the soup in two bowls and hands one to the other.

Very soon the warmth of the boiled vegetables they share brakes the ice.

'What are we going to do tomorrow?'

The older turns towards the younger with renewed interest, a half smile on his lips, his dark brown eyes sparkling.

'We could go hunting. Yesterday, as I was coming, I saw a herd of steenboks. They mustn't have gone far.'

'I do not hunt brother. Not anymore. You know that.'

'Then, what?'

'Let us go flying.'

'Flying, then, is what we are going to do.' The man half stands making for his blankets, to unroll them for the night.

'I'm going to sleep.'

His brother grabs his forearm, stopping him and making him sit down again.

'Tell me more!'

'About what?'

'About your Queen … the children …'

The older man chuckles.

'Curiosity!'

'As always.'

'And too many questions.'

The younger laughs heartily.

'As always.'

They lie on their backs looking at the bright, distant stars upon the dome of the sky and talk to each other, till the wood in the fire turns to embers.

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**A/N :** Thank you for reading this chapter. I would appreciate if you let me know your opinion. So, please review.


	3. First day

**Disclaimer :** I do not own any hero of the Inheritance Cycle.

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**First day.**

All four of them sit under the shadow cast by a dune. The morning desert wind, still cold from the sunless night, scatters around them amounts of golden sand.

Eragon, leaning on Saphira, embraces her as she leans towards him; he hides his face in the crook of her neck in a rather childish way.

_He lives alone, _comments Thorn.

_He lives with the Elves, not to mention the Dragons. _

_But he feels alone, he misses the mate of his heart. So feels the Sea-Scales. _

Murtagh turns towards his dragon, caressing his snout. The crimson eye of his companion shines with a curious wetness.

_Thorn! You crave for her affections. You cannot deny it. I can feel it._

_Aye, for the Sea-Scales. But I cherish no hope. The Green-one is always in her mind. _

Murtagh's shoulders turn rigid. It's not so easy for him to talk about feelings. He sends mental comfort to his dragon soothing him and, at the same time, a picture of them both flying towards Eragon's land.

_One day we will be there, o mighty one. And there, you will meet with your proper mate. And I will stand by you to see your happiness. _

Thorn expresses his gratitude with a puff of smoke that shuffles his Rider's hair.

_Most of all I want is to meet my brethren. But when the time comes for us to join them, this would mean a lot of pain for you. I do not yearn for my happiness when you will have lost yours. _

_Hush! Do not talk_ _of such a thing. Not now. I am with my brother. _

Murtagh stands and tries in vain to dust his clothes. He is sure that his brother is talking with his partner of mind, so he keeps his distance as he approaches Saphira, giving her a slight bow. In a moment Eragon is facing him, his lips turned upwards in a wide smile.

'Yes, brother?'

'Time to go flying, brother.'

They climb onto their saddles, strap their legs secure and take off. As the burning sun ascends in the sky, the heat on the desert land turns unbearable. But up there the air is still cool and refreshing. The two Riders fly higher and higher into the sky, the wind and the sun on their backs.

The two dragons show off their skills in flying, displaying whatever figure they can achieve better. Thorn's wings are stronger but his bulky form prevents him from any complex maneuvers. Saphira, with her lean body, is more flexible and maybe a little faster.

Eragon is enjoying his time in the air. It is not very often that he has someone with him, to share a feeling like this. A fellow Rider!

_My Rider is so pleased, same as you are, Eragon-Murtagh's-brother._ Thorn's musical voice sings in his mind. The mighty dragon sends him a feeling that looks strangely familiar and at the same time so alien. A wild emotion of overflowing joy, an absolute freedom in its extreme form, fulfillment of long unrealised, repressed dreams and ... pride?

_Is this what my brother feels for our flight together?_

_Aye. But do not ever tell him that I sent you this. He is still so sensitive about sharing thoughts. _

Eragon smiles happily. The miles of barren desert land are swallowed by the wings of the dragons. Despite the sun burning his back, the wind is still cool up here. He feels content. So content as he felt on the first time, when an ancient egg from Vroengard hatched and the young unbonded hatchling stumbled around Saphira's legs, trembling.

Murtagh's eyes survey the distant dunes beneath them. Among the golden sand ripples he spots a black figure lying down, big enough to be seen from such an altitude.

_Murtagh! _

_I can see it Thorn. Let's investigate. _

Eragon and Saphira have seen it too.

'Down there!' shouts Eragon, yelling with all his might. 'Let's land to look at it.'

They approach fast. A dragon-like figure, with dark colour and wings broken, spread on the ground, lies still on the burning desert sand.

_It's a Fanghur!_

Thorn is excited. He is always excited when meeting various and curious creatures of the earth and sky.

'A Fanghur, Murtagh! A Fanghur!' Eragon practically screams, making exuberant movements with his hands, showing the spot on the land. 'Let's go, let's go!'

_His enthusiasm matches yours, Thorn. Are you someway related?_

_Very funny, Murtagh. _

Once on the ground they meet again. Murtagh looks irritated.

'I'm not deaf, brother. At least not yet. But if you try harder …'

Eragon laughs. For him laughter always comes easily, even in painful times.

'Wait till the Fanghur shrieks. Besides, you haven't granted me … us the permission to talk to your mind directly so far.'

Murtagh gives a strained smile.

'Maybe next time, brother.'

Saphira is the first to approach the fallen dominant of the sky.

_It is still alive. Both its wings are broken. _She touches its snout, sniffing at it. _It is dying from thirst, the poor creature. _

The Fanghur half opens an eye, a faint, throaty growl emanating from its muzzle.

'I'm going to heal it' Eragon decides. He touches his hand on the protruding bone of the one broken wing.

'Wait!' Murtagh passes to the other side and put his palm with the _gedwëy_ ignasia on the other wing. 'We will do it together.'

Eragon smiles, moving his head in approval.

'Together!'

When they finish, Fanghur is still very weak to fly.

'We must bring the deep water of the land to the surface.' Murtagh digs a hole vigorously, big enough for the Dragons and Fanghur to drink. 'You bring the water, while I fill the waterskins.'

In a while, Fanghur and the Dragons are flying back to the sky. The two brothers, sitting by the moist hole are sharing some bread and dry fruits. They are both tired but content. The sun is about to set and this one has been a long day of flying. But they are content.

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**A/N :** Thank you for reading this chapter. I would appreciate if you let me know your opinion. So, please review.


	4. Second night

**Disclaimer :** I do not own any hero of the Inheritance Cycle.

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**A/N:** I would like to thank all the visitors and readers of this story and especially Restrained_Freedom, for his reviews.

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**Second night.**

_Murtagh!_

_Not now! I have him._

_You should see the Lady from above … _

Thorn sends him one of his views of Saphira flying, silver light of the full moon shining on the scales of her back, making them sparkle like diamonds. Her giant wings spread open, casting shadows on the sand ripples of the desert.

_She is so magnificent! Isn't she?_

_So are you. But now get out of my mind! You distract me and I'll lose control._

Eragon attacks back, forcing him to sidestep. As he finds his footing again the previous advantage is lost.

_It's your fault entirely. I would have overpowered him by now._

_No, you wouldn't, _Thorn gives a mental laugh and closes the connection.

The sparring goes on and finishes the same way as ever. No winner! They are panting on the ground, cold desert sand sticking on their sweaty hair and body.

'I'm done with it. I'm tired having to pick sand from every place of my body every few minutes'.

'You said that before.' Eragon laughs and turns around to look at his brother. 'We could find a stream to wash the sand. There are plenty of them if we go closer to the mountains.'

'We do not want to be seen. Besides, the Dragons are not nearby.'

'Then, we can endure. As always.'

They sit one next to the other, waiting for the partners-of-their-minds-and-hearts to return from their night fly. The desert breeze freezes the sweat on their skin, the small fire, built mostly of gnarled roots from the rare shrubs of the desert, provides poor help to their need for warmth.

Eragon searches inside his pack and presents two thick shirts.

'Here, let's change our wet clothing.'

They spread onto the sand their sweaty shirts and tunics, for the fire to dry them out. As they change into drier clothes, the younger brother takes a peek at the other's back.

'Um … Murtagh?' The older turns with a questioning glance. The matter is delicate and the younger one hesitates to refer to it.

'I wonder … why haven't you ever effaced this scar by magic?'

The older is taken aback as he laces the cords of the shirt on his chest. A sour expression hardens his face and the other understands his blunder.

'You don't have to answer to me if you don't want to but I could …'

'You couldn't!'

His back stiffens, in a moment he becomes distant, his gaze surveys the night sky.

_Murtagh! I'm coming back!_

_No, Thorn, it is not necessary. I'll answer his question. _

A hand touches his shoulder lightly. Eragon is standing beside him.

'Forgive me, brother, for I have insulted you.'

Murtagh nods and they both return to sit by the fire. Bright flames bite on thin wood dancing with the cold desert wind.

'I could have done it myself.' He turns and looks the other in the eye. 'But I want to feel it on my back and remember … I want to remember … what a father should never do. What a man who possesses such a power should never do. Never be corrupted by it, never use it against those weakest.'

His eyes reflect the red flames of the fire, his voice vibrating with emotion.

Eragon stares at him speechless. His brother has just given him a speech. He lifts an eyebrow with a half ironic smile.

_Is he the same Murtagh, who has committed a few crimes himself?_

_Not by his own free will,_ Saphira interferes in his thoughts. _Do not judge him for something you do not know. _

_You are right_, Eragon agrees with compassion.

_As always_, she states.

_As always._

Murtagh's gaze softens, his voice turning to a more tender tone.

'You see, when one turns to be so powerful, they should never run away, but stay and be helpful and control their power. I've made this mistake myself long ago.'

Eragon bits his lip.

'I see your point.'

Silence falls on the camp interrupted only by the crackling of the flames eating hungrily on the wood. The small hours of the night are almost gone. Soon dawn will bloom in the east.

'I had my mission to fulfill' Eragon says. 'I still have.'

They stay together in silence as the darkness little by little gives way to light. They haven't slept much but they are not tired. Despite their differences they both enjoy their brotherhood. These sleepless nights they are together.

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**A/N :** Thank you for reading this chapter. I would appreciate if you let me know your opinion. So, please review.


	5. Second day

**Disclaimer :** I do not own any hero of the Inheritance Cycle.

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**Second day.**

Eragon sits cross legged near the ashes of the previous night's consumed fire and watches his sleeping brother's face. The first sun rays have already fallen on the desert land but Murtagh is still asleep.

_Once, he was the first one to wake up at dawn. And if one was ever so close to him watching, he would have stuck a knife to their throat. Now he even smiles in his sleep._

_Maybe it's because he feels so powerful now, _Saphira comments.

_He __is__ powerful,_ Eragon states. _The moment the Evil king was dead, __he__ was the one most powerful man on the land. Even if it lasted for just a few hours. He was the only one to know the Name of all Names and __that__ made him the most powerful of all others. Elves, Dragons, Eldunarí._

_It was the Evil one who had taught him the Name._

Eragon shakes his head.

_No, Saphira, I doubt it._

He remembers, when returning from Helgrind, his meeting with the group of the Empire soldiers and their strange conversation concerning Murtagh, that he had eavesdropped.

_The King would never have shared this knowledge with anyone else. Especially not one who had proved himself so rebellious more than once._

_But Murtagh shared this knowledge with us. And the Eldunarí._

_Yes, _Eragon sighs_, he did._

A sun ray falls on his brother's face, giving his skin a radiant light and making his eyelashes imperceptibly flicker.

_He looks content, _Saphira comments, seeing Murtagh's face through Eragon's eyes.

Since the very beginning of dawn she has been standing with Thorn in a short distance away, facing each other. As the two Dragons touch their snouts they resemble two giant swans, creating with their necks a high, wide arch. As the rising sun ascends in the center of the arch, its bright rays causes iridescent glints on the soft scales on the muzzles of the Dragons, melting their colours together. Red and blue. Blue and red. Purple.

_He is calm and doesn't look so angry, as he used to._ Eragon smiles on his brother's face and supports his chin with his hand, as he leans forward. Murtagh's breath comes out lightly at regular intervals.

_It is the Queen's presence that makes him calm. And the children_, Thorn sings in both their minds. _But I never said this to you._

Eragon feels happy for his brother. He's been through many adversities in his life and he deserves his happiness, even if it lasts for just a few years of his long life.

_What are we going to do today?_

Eragon knows very well, what his brother would like to do. What he craves to do. But he never hunts anymore. Even the idea of hunting drives him mad.

_Ask him to show you his new bow, _Thorn's melodic tone fills his being with musical sounds. Eragon loves listening to him in his mind. He considers Murtagh a happy man, just for this.

_New bow?_

_Aye, Murtagh is very proud of it. _

_How so?_

_You will see. _

Murtagh stirs slightly but he remains asleep and Eragon cranes his head to have a better look at his brother's face.

_He looks like mother. More than I do. _

Eragon knows his mother only by the fairth Oromis gave him years ago. Now that his brother is still and calm, he detects similar features on their faces. The eyebrow's line, the nose, the high cheek bones, even the curve of his lips.

_He doesn't look much like Morzan._ Years ago, in Farthen Dûr, Ajihad had suspected who he was, not by his appearance but once he heard his voice. He had somehow gained possession of the knowledge of his scar and coerced the young man into exposing his back. Only after seeing _this_ mark, did he identify him as the son of Morzan.

Eragon touches his palm on the already warmer sand and starts to chant in the ancient language. In a while, a tiny fairth of Murtagh's sleeping face lies on his palm, all made of glass.

_If your intention is to take this with us, I inform you that it will break._

_No Saphira, it will not. _Eragon puts an enchantment on the glass fairth and hides it in his pocket just in time. His brother's lashes finally open to morning light.

'Eragon?' Murtagh's eyes look around in astonishment. 'I must have overslept.' He stretches and yawns and untangles himself from his blankets, as he stands.

'Get up, lazy brother. We have so many things to do today.'

Murtagh shrugs and starts folding his bedroll.

'Name one!'

Eragon smiles cunningly, as he makes for his stuff.

'Archery?' He brings out his elven bow. 'With this one, I'll surpass you for sure.'

Blanket and the rest fall instantly down on a pile. Murtagh's eyes shine with excitement.

'No, you will not!' Murtagh searches Thorn's saddle and brings out a long pack, strapped with leather strings. 'Not with _this_!'

With steady hands, he unwraps the pack presenting a long, elegant bow, made of dark wood with curled tips, silver nails to tie the string and decorated with a pattern of golden autumn maple leaves, inlaid in copper. A bow much similar to Eragon's.

'Brother! This is an elven bow! Where did you find it?'

'No, it is not!'

Eragon's eyes narrow suspiciously.

'I can tell a bow made by elves, I assure you.'

'No elf made this bow for me.' Murtagh lifts his weapon on the morning light and gazes at it with pride. 'I've sung this myself.'

'You've … sung it?' Eragon stares speechless.

'Mhm! I've sung it of a yew tree, and then I've spelled all his ornaments and finery and I assure you, it will never break. So, brother, name the target.'

Eragon smiles and turns around, surveying the landscape. Straight plains of emptiness and a few distant dunes is the only thing the eye can see.

They gather their belongings, saddle Saphira and Thorn and fly for the next few hours towards the north. Once they see from above harsh, gray, colossal rocks with golden-orange stripes protruding from the ground, they know they have reached the heart of the desert.

_The Dragons' ancestral land!,_ says Saphira.

Thorn swoops down, towards some peak of the natural structure, Saphira on his trail.

Soon they find a proper place to land and Thorn adjusts his speed on the wing, advancing for the ground; Saphira stays for a while, delicately hovering in mid-air.

As soon as the mighty Dragon touches heavily upon solid earth, Murtagh jumps off his saddle. With the tip of Zar'roc he tests the hardness of the soil. Pure granite.

_Why is it like this?_

_Dragons' fires,_ responds Thorn. _They have melted the ground into granite_. He stumbles around on the slippery rock, soon followed by the others.

In a while, they find themselves in a hollow, filled with a few remnants of what looks like old whitened animal bones, shreds of broken eggs and marks of fire all around. Saphira sniffs the shells, with her tongue hanging out of her muzzle, like a thirsty dog, tasting their smell.

_An ancient nest! _

Spreading out and flapping vigorously his enormous wings in the middle of the hollow, Thorn – as the only dominant male of the whole region – instinctively claims dominance over the nest, growling at the same time to the sky and blowing a huge jet of crimson fire.

The two Dragons refuse to go further so their Riders leave them alone in the nest and together they proceed, examining the ground. Descending from the top, they spot a long, flat plateau, suitable for their archery. As there is only solid rock around, a stretched piece of leather with the proper marks on it, fastened on two protruding stones, acts as their target.

The arrows fly like rain. The archers stand farther and farther from the target up to the edge of the cliff. Who is better and faster, none can tell. They never miss the center, not just once.

'If there was a tree on the top of that cliff, I could cut with my arrow a single leaf from its top.'

'Show-off!'

The day has been spent and the setting sun descending towards the horizon, throws red-hot, flaming rays on their spot on the plateau. Both of them are thirsty, hungry and tired and want to depart, but the Dragons refuse to abandon the nest.

Eragon sits on the edge of the cliff with a sad look on his face, both his legs hanging above the void, his eyes looking towards Du Weldenvarden with grief. A steady hand grabs his shoulder firmly, distracting him from his brooding thoughts. His brother, having wrapped his bow and the leather target, stands calm behind him, gazing at the distance.

'Now, brother, it is _your_ turn to tell me more.'

'About what?'

Murtagh sits cross-legged beside him. The eastern wind blows through his long hair, making it flap on his back like a banner.

'About the Dragons … the Eldunarí.'

The dusk falling upon the land gives multiple, incredible colours on the sky and desert sand, making them melt together in a gold-red world of crimson light; and despite the Riders' urgent need for water, they stay there, one talking, the other listening.

Finally it is this urgent need that persuades Saphira and Thorn to leave this magnificent place and start off.

As soon as the two Dragons respond to their Riders' calls, they fly in the air and try to spot a shrubby place at the foot of the giant rocks, to make camp for the night.

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**A/N :** Thank you for reading this chapter. I would appreciate if you let me know your opinion. So, please review.


	6. Third night

**Disclaimer :** I do not own any hero of the Inheritance Cycle.

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**_A/N__: _**_Dédié à__ mon frère __Jean-Pierre,__ qui connaît sa mère seulement __par __ses__ photographies._

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**Third night.**

'Brother, do you remember _her_?'

Murtagh knows very well whom his brother refers to. But his memories are his own and he detests talking about his personal life, especially his past. He stirs annoyed as he passes his fingers through his hair.

'Barely.'

Eragon throws some twisted roots in their campfire, causing the flames to dance vigorously for a few moments and sits again beside him.

'I wish I could have known her …'

'You can always come back and put some flowers on her grave, to show your respect.'

Eragon turns abruptly to face him and a moan escapes him.

'Where?'

'Ilirea. At the graveyard of the palace.'

'What? You said she died in Morzan's castle.'

'Aye, but … _he_ brought the body in Uru'baen and buried them together.'

Murtag's fists clench with anger. When he'd returned to the capital he had found Morzan's grave, his mother's grave, broken. A mean revenge by some rebels, maybe. Fortunately, the enchanted crypt had remained safe. It was Nasuada who had rebuilt it, for his sake.

Eragon covers his face with his palms.

'I was there … but … I … didn't know.'

'You didn't ask!'

Quiet sobs escape Eragon's chest, disturbing the silence of the night and Murtagh is moved. It was not his brother's fault after all. It was the flow of the events that drew him away. Hesitantly he touches Eragon's hair with his palm, half-caressing it for just a moment and withdraws his hand abruptly.

It is Thorn, that finally consoles Eragon, sending him secretly one of Murtagh's memory of their mother. An image of Selena bending above him, smiling sweetly on his face, caressing his cheek and kissing his brow.

_Good night, my angel, sleep well._

_Mommy! Will you be here in the morning?_

_..._

_Mommy?_

_I'll come back, my angel, I promise. _

'Mother', Eragon weeps shocked, feeling for the first time in his life his mother's caress on his cheek and her soft kiss on his brow. 'Mother … why …'

_Don't you ever _think_ about telling him_, Thorn demands.

He and Saphira have returned to the nest on the top of the crags but their consciousnesses never leave completely those of their Riders'.

'She was beautiful', Murtagh smiles to the night sky and the bright stars above them. 'She was delicate but strong and determined. I remember … she was always good with me. She used to sing me goodnight.'

In a while, even so slightly, he starts whispering a song. His soft voice, with a gentle baritone hue, fills the air with memories of rose gardens, wide prairies, green leaves of summer forests, spurting springs and rivulets with gurgling waters.

Eragon has ceased crying and dries his eyes. His voice, united with his brother's, speaks of long rivers, deep, blue seas, valediction and homecoming.

They sing together for long, both their voices melting to a fitting unison harmony. The song ends and another and one more starts.

'You have a beautiful voice, brother.'

'Same as you do, brother.'

'Now, I understand how you've managed to create your bow.'

Murtagh chuckles. He lies on his back, with his two hands folded under his head and looks at the far, bright stars of the dark, night sky.

'You know, I never thought this could possibly happen, but I'm glad that it can.'

'The war ended, brother. Years ago. And now we enjoy the sweet fruits of peace.'

'Yeah, we do … so far.'

Eragon lies on his back too and they both keep silent, watching the distant, flickering constellations above. This night neither one of them intends to sleep. All they want is just feel the presence of each other. And the time flies, faster than they would like.

Just before dawn, they stand up and gather their belongings. The Dragons are back and the embers of the campfire flicker under the cold desert breeze. The two Riders face each other.

'You should come with me brother. Soon enough I'll need you, both of you. Saphira and I will need you.'

'You have the elves to help and … the Eldunarí.'

Eragon nods in agreement, melancholic thoughts hidden behind his eyelashes.

'It is not the same.'

As the other avoids answering, he insists. 'You've promised.'

Murtagh stands stiff, his gaze fixed in the distant plains.

'Not yet brother. The time has not come.'

They both consider the sad meaning of these words.

'I understand. It will be hard.'

'We knew this since the beginning. Once the time comes, we will be ready.'

Murtagh stretches out his hand.

'Farewell, brother.'

Eragon grabs it by the forearm and pulls him in an embrace.

'You too, brother.'

Nearby Thorn and Saphira touch their snouts. The Red-one gives a soft, throaty howl, full of anticipation and supremacy at the same time. The female digs the sand with her talons in expectation. They beat their wings simultaneously with longing. No one wants to be deprived of his own kind for so long.

The Riders break their embrace.

'Till next year, brother.'

'Till next year.'

They ride their Dragons, strap their legs secure on the saddles and the four of them ascend into the sky. For a little while they fly together towards the west. Then, Eragon and Saphira take a turn facing the east, making one, then two big cycles above Murtagh and Thorn.

'Till next year, brother.' Eragon shouts from Saphira's back.

Both Riders raise their hands in a mutual greeting. Murtagh, hesitantly in the beginning, then decidedly, lowers his mental barriers a little. He softly approaches Eragon's mind, sending him a mental thought.

_Till next year._

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**A/N:** This is it. This is the end of the story. I want to thank all of you, who stayed and read it until the last chapter. I know this story is not an adventure – never meant to be one – and because of this maybe, for some of you, it was a little boring. But as it was meant to be the mending of the relation between two brothers (how many times the word 'brother' was spoken?), I enjoyed every second of writing it and the gradual development of the events between them, from chapter to chapter. I liked them both, with their mistakes, their naiveness, their kindness, their closed nature and all.

I know I'll be back some day, to write again about those two. I have an idea about an adventure. But … sometimes, making amends, is the greatest adventure of all.

And as always, I would appreciate your opinion, so, please, review.


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